In the chaos of the battle, the fury, and the blood, few minds were still functioning on anything more than adrenaline. The smell of smoke only heightened the delirium. Nobody thought about the captain and the wench, locked in his cabin by Davy Jones himself. Nobody rushed to let them out, they were all too busy fleeing. The one person who would have thought of it, the wench's fiancé, was laying on the burning deck in a growing pool of his own blood, dead. The flames spread, flying up the rigging and into the sails. Within a few moments, the two in the cabin were the only living beings on the ship. The only two living beings trapped in a vessel with flame rushing toward the powder kegs.

He sat beside her, his arm around her, as they listened to the crackling of the flames and smelt the smoke that filled the air. They knew they were going to die. They were going to die a horrible, slow death. They would die together, even though only days ago, they had both claimed to hate the other, and had not spoken to each other since. They would die together, even though they both knew her fiancé must be dead, or he would have come to try to get them out. They would die together, even though they had been too proud to admit they loved other…until now.

His voice was hoarse, the smoke was already getting in his lungs. His words, however, were what she had been longing to hear for such a long time that she couldn't remember not wanting to hear them. "I love you." He coughed, and so did she, tears running down her face. She leaned against him weakly. They had tried everything to get out of this room, but it was cursed as well as locked. Now, they sat to face their doom, only hoping that the smoke would kill them before the flames did. She looked at him, hating that this confession of love would come at a time like this. She said the words hoarsely. "I love you. I'm sorry for everything that's happened, so sorry." He held her tightly, kissing her weakly. Then he spoke again, tears running down his face unabashedly. "Lizzie, I have a gun. You don't have to die like this. Jones didn't take the pistol that I keep in my closet. It only has one shot. It's like Barbossa said so long ago; I can be the gentlemen and shoot the lady. I don't want you to die this way." He kissed her gently.

The room was heating to furnace temperatures. Smoke spilled in under the door, and a flaming portion of the ceiling fell into the room. The flames would spread quickly from there on, they both knew it. He looked to her as he held the pistol in his grasp, silently asking if she wanted him to end it all. She choked on the smoke and the tears in her throat. Then she shook her head. "No Jack, you don't have to let me be the one to die easily. I couldn't let you shoot me, knowing you would burn alive. Use it yourself if you want to." He shook his head. "We'll die together this time, Darling. I don't want to leave you alone to die either." He sat beside her again, then pulled her down to lie beside him on the bed, holding her gently.

The creaking sound of the ceiling giving way filled the room. They coughed, then suddenly he sat up. "It's going to fall on us, Lizzie. Maybe we will die quick and easy."

The ceiling fell.

Nobody saw the Black Pearl sink for the third and final time. Nobody saw the burning funeral pyre of Jack Sparrow, Elizabeth Swann, and Will Turner.